


Weekend Mornings in Boston

by coyotestiptoe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic Scott, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Kitchen Sex, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1395172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotestiptoe/pseuds/coyotestiptoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though, unlike Scott, Stiles’ idea of providing was inclusive to rising early and dropping in on the café down the street - when Stiles dared to venture from their room to the kitchen on Sunday morning he found Scott going one on one with their new coffee machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekend Mornings in Boston

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted this on tumblr but decided to share it here as well. Really pointless smut, tbh. I need practice and after seeing [this post](http://skittlestouchingdicks.tumblr.com/post/76192557032) I couldn't help myself. Enjoy XD

The promise of catching Scott fussing over breakfast in the mornings was often a promising one. Stiles wasn’t sure where he got his domestic streak but since they had moved to Boston Scott had done a great deal of the home making. Weekends in particular found him at his most domestic, rising earlier than Stiles to get a jump on what usually resulted in breakfast in bed. Stiles enjoyed their misadventures in maple syrup, and less sordidly, the soft humming that floated down the hall to their bedroom while Scott cooked.

Most times he never bothered foiling Scott’s attempts at surprise. Scott looked so charmingly disheartened when Stiles had first imposed on what was intended to be his surprise breakfast in bed that Stiles had gone against instinct and stayed put ever since, save the occasional foray into domestic godliness himself.

Though, unlike Scott, Stiles’ idea of providing was inclusive to rising early and dropping in on the café down the street - when Stiles dared to venture from their room to the kitchen on Sunday morning he found Scott going one on one with their new coffee machine.

The impressive contraption had been a gift from Lydia – a belated house warming present, she had cited in the attached note. Neither of them had been able to make sense of the instructions and were still coming to terms with the ins and outs of its use. Scott, boasting the most patience had also made the most progress though it seemed now the coffee machine was winning out.

Stiles saw from the peripheral of his vision the wife beater Scott had been wearing when they’d fallen asleep, soaking wet and undoubtedly a personal attack from the machine in question, thrown absently over the back of one of the dining room chairs, leaving his toned back temptingly on show.

Each minute action of Scott’s struggle was highlighted with the stretch of his skin, the shift of his muscles, appeasing Stiles as he drew closer, fingers reaching before he was close enough to touch. Scott rarely startled when Stiles’ fingers eventually found their commonplace over the narrow of his hips, fingers dipping close to his waistband, but today he shivered, mentioning a bemused, “you’re freezing.”

Stiles dropped his chin to Scott’s shoulder and shrugged one of his own. “Good thing I’ve got my own heater then, huh?”

Releasing a chuckle Scott angled his head slightly to give himself a skewered glance of Stiles’ face. “You’re sweeping me off my feet here.”

“You’ve always known I wasn’t charmingly astute, Scotty.” Stiles spoke around a lewd smile, stretching his fingers suggestively. “Always been better with my hands.” He ventured a palm over the front of Scott’s pajamas (a surprisingly sinful pair of long johns) and curved his hand to the shape of Scott’s cock.

Scott abandoned his war with the coffee machine.

His hands were fast and firm against Stiles’ wrists, prying them from position so he could turn in his place, bringing their chests together with a hand anchored around the back of Stiles’ neck and their lips familiar and sure as they met. In forgetting hand placement Stiles focused on the drag of Scott’s tongue, the appearance of teeth against his bottom lip and whined, faint and low in the back of his throat.

Scott always had shown a tendency for throwing him off track when he had intentions.

Still, Stiles was persistent if nothing else and eventually gave Scott’s bottom lip a nick of its own, teeth flashing out to press into the lower volume of his mouth. His tongue traced over soft teeth marks that lasted for only as long as the sweep of his tongue and his hands spread low over Scott’s hips. Stiles could feel the upward quirk of Scott’s smile against his mouth when their hips met, the further stretch as one of his thighs slotted between and pressed, luring a muffled groan of approval from Scott’s chest.

Amending his own grip on Stiles to place his hands over the cloth covered curve of his ass Scott impatiently pulled him forward, grinding against his leg, mouth going momentarily slack. Stiles chuckled, quiet and satisfied, while Scott bit down on his lip and drew him into a sloppy kiss.

“Thought,” Scott breathed against Stiles’ mouth, prompting it open with his tongue; “You were gonna remind me how good you are with your hands.”

As if to accommodate the segue from preamble Scott’s hands shifted to clutch at Stiles’ shoulders instead.

Stiles smirked, one brow arching while he untangled their legs and ducked beneath Scott’s jaw. His teeth clamped over the junction of Scott’s neck and shoulder, his tongue warm against the salt of Scott’s skin. His fingers danced along the waistline of Scott’s long johns but when he eventually got his hand wrapped around Scott’s dick it was by way of slipping his digits through the slit in front. He drew Scott out with a light touch, curving his fingers under to gently brush his palm against the head of Scott’s cock.

Scott jerked against him, pushing, asking for more and Stiles obliged with a loose grip and a slow stroke. The proximity was a little difficult to manoeuvre but Stiles made it work, varying the pace, pressure and technique of his strokes until Scott was left whimpering into his shoulder, Stiles worrying his earlobe between his lips.

He grazed his teeth over the hinge of Scott’s jaw and Scott let out a groan that shot pleasant currents of electricity down the back of his neck right down to his toes. The audible motivation set Stiles on an alternate path, nose nudging at Scott’s cheek until he got the message and tilted his head back enough to welcome Stiles’ kiss.

Their mouths slid together with a lazy familiarity, Stiles asserting the attention of his hands to tug Scott’s pants down and travel further south in turn. He littered Scott’s torso with worship, swirling a tongue around one of his nipples, tugging on another with his teeth while he pushed the long johns down Scott’s thighs until they fell, bunched around his ankles.

As his knees found the kitchen floor his hands curved, long fingers inching toward the inside of Scott’s thighs from behind, mouth dragging over hipbones. He pressed a trail of open mouthed kisses beneath Scott’s belly button, delving lower to mouth at his balls when he felt Scott’s fingers bury into the sleep mussed strands of his hair. Scott’s fingers tightened when he sucked, tugging at his hair and Stiles caved to the movement with a backward arch of his neck and a low hiss of breath escaping through his teeth.

Unperturbed Stiles refused to be distracted, shooting Scott a quick smirk before he returned to his task. He dragged the flat of his tongue up Scott’s length, his fingers wrapping around Scott’s dick once more. Licking the head before sucking it into his mouth Scott’s hips twitched, inching forward of their own volition. Stiles had the audacity to smile around him, taking more and stroking in tandem with the pace he set with his mouth.

His name left Scott’s mouth with a hint of desperation, fingers clutching wildly at his shoulders and fingertips pressing keenly into the cotton of his shirt. Stiles removed his mouth from Scott’s dick with an obnoxious pop of a sound and grinned up at him, admiring the flush along his cheeks. “You like that, Scotty?”

Scott echoed his name again, repeating it with urgency and a trace of exasperation that he followed with asshole. Stiles could barely wipe the grin from his face though he shifted his hand in an upward stroke that seemed to do the trick. The furrow in Scott’s brow softened and Stiles watched the muscles in his stomach contract, distracted just enough that he wasn’t quite prepared for the firm shove against his shoulders that Scott delivered.

He faltered, tumbling back against the kitchen floor while Scott kicked off his pants and carefully launched at him, boxing Stiles in against the floor. His knees bracketed Stiles’ hips and Scott fell over his body with a hum of content, pressing against the growing strain of Stiles’ pajama pants, rutting their hips together.

Despite the responsive arch in his spine, the gasp that escaped him due to the bliss of receiving the friction he hadn’t quite realized he needed, Stiles choked out, “Cheater,” receiving a bright grin from Scott in return. He looked a little proud of himself as he slotted his hips just so, getting himself off against the cut of Stiles’ hip.

The position worked for Stiles in turn, generating enough friction as he shifted his hips in a rhythm that corresponded Scott’s.

Scott bit at his chin teasingly and commented, “like you didn’t need this. Besides” he whispered, lowering himself to whisper dark and low in Stiles’ ear, “I like watching you.” He leant back and nudged his nose against Stiles’, pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth while Stiles’ fingers dug into his ass, demanding more, faster.

Scott complied, lowering a little more of his weight into the action, letting Stiles’ hands guide them into a sloppy rhythm that brought him closer to the edge. A few more precise rolls of his hips sent him over and Scott came with a stilted rolls of his hips, cum seeping into the bottom of Stiles’ shirt and his moans being breathed into Stiles’ neck.


End file.
